Two Paths
by AmorDelFriki
Summary: The pair are close to closing another case when links start to show between that case and another. All of it links - a little too perfectly. Why does the case keep getting bigger and how long will it take Sherlock to notice it all points in one direction?
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1:____**The Case of L'Enfant Perdu**_

"…and that, my friend, is why he can't be his real son. No son of a man like that would ever wear polyester. The questions is, who is he? And where is the real son?" stated the worlds first and only consulting detective. His excited green eyes darting every where. A coy smile played upon his lips displaying two dimples at each corner of his mouth proving his ivory complexion to be pale skin and not white porcelain. "Finally a challenge. Grab your coat, John. We need another look at that corpse," he said cheerfully as he slipped a leather glove snugly over his left hand to match the one on his right. He was wearing his usual navy blue scarf tucked neatly into his half buttoned up black trench coat.

Quick as a flash he was down the stairs and out the door shortly followed by a very stunned John Watson who sometimes struggled to keep up with Sherlock on the rare occasion the detective was given a case worthy of curing his seemingly constant boredom.

Not many people knew him as well as John even though he had known him for a shorter time than any of the people in the police force who claimed to have worked with him and "lived to tell the tale". He was a strange, curious man who to any one else seemed to be drain of all emotion. All human emotions seemed to be tucked neatly away in the darkest corner of his simply brilliant mind. But to John it was different. You could see it if you looked hard enough, the excitement in his eyes while he stuck the severed arm into the microwave carrying out another one of his dangerously curious experiments. You could see how he would be slightly upset when a case turned out to be too easy for him and how he was the tiniest bit angry when a victim was lost. You could see the way he would immediately turn into a child when a murder case was deemed to be too difficult for the detectives sat down at the London station. Watching him practically dive into the back of the taxi reminded John of a six year olds first trip to Disneyland. The emotion was there - how did people not see it? Maybe a small fragment of Sherlock's accurate radar had rubbed off onto John, which made it all the more exciting to live with him.

Sherlock and John were heading to the closest café to Baker Street. They both seemed in desperate need of a cup of tea after solving a particularly difficult case. They would have headed straight back to 221b if they hadn't run out of milk. The small copper bell sang as the door of the café opened. Sherlock and John entered, greeted by a wave of heat and the comforting smell of coffee being brewed in the kitchen at the back of the café. The atmosphere inside the café was thankfully unlike the one outside, where the cold autumn wind brushed harshly past their cheeks turning their pale skin shades to a rosy pink. Now inside the only indication of cold weather outside was how the wind whistled and howled ever so softly at the window almost like whispers. Though the whispers were easily drowned out by the extraordinary explanation of how Mr. Holmes had solved the murder case in less than two days.

"It seems so simple now. Obviously a classic drugs-related murderer. The powdery substance on his collar, which they thought to be pollen from the bushes he was found in, had obvious traces of cocaine in. This man just didn't want to be involved with that kind of group anymore. He was a doctor. He thought he deserved better money than blood money. But getting out was the hard part for him. However, being a doctor gave him access to most things - medicine, patient's files, even birth certificates. He used the birth certificate because it was a form of ID that seemed reliable and didn't require a picture. If he was that mans son he would have simply used his own ID - a passport or drivers licence or at least the original birth certificate. Judging by how new the paper was, I'd say the certificate we found in the victims bag was printed two months ago."

"You mean it was a duplicate?" asked John.

"Yes – probably paid for over the internet."

"So what did he do after getting the certificate?"

"He was going to run. Probably abroad – not too far though. Maybe France – definitely western Europe. He wasn't going to leave anything behind, especially not his fiancée who got caught up in all of this as well. He left her a coded message. They obviously found it and…"

"They?"

"Whomever he was running from. They found the message before his wife could and got to him before he could open his mouth."

"But he didn't want to tell anyone. He didn't want anyone to know just as much as the rest of them – he would have lost his job, his wife, everything."

"Unfortunately for him, they didn't know that and they weren't taking any chances. And fortunately for us," Sherlock said his eyes sparkling with uncontrollable excitement, "the whereabouts of his real son is still a complete mystery – an unsolved case."

Luckily for John who was simply wearing a jumper over his thin shirt, it was only a short walk back to 221b Baker Street. He had no scarf or big trench coat with a wide collar to protect his cheeks. He gazed at his friend envious of the fact he was toasty warm under that thick coat.

"You know you can always go out and buy one," said Sherlock casually not even turning his head to look at his cold friend.

"But then we'd match and I'd have to spend all my time telling people I'm not your boyfriend."

"If you want to suffer that's fine but winter is on its way, my dear Watson. Don't die of hypothermia. I'll have to talk Mrs. Hudson about giving me my skull back."

They reached the front door of 221b Baker Street. Sherlock fitted the key into the socket and turned, resulting in a small 'click' indicating that the door was now unlocked. Walking quickly upstairs two steps at a time they reached the second floor in seconds. However, what they saw inside was to John a mystery, but Sherlock deduced the identity from a single glance. It shocked him. How was this possible?


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2:__**From France, With Love…**_

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"Who's the ten year old?" asked Watson as he stared at the sofa in the front room, where Mrs. Hudson and a young girl were both sat.

"She's…twelve, John" replied Sherlock still in shock his eyes not diverging from the girl on the sofa.

Her hair was the same dark brown as Sherlock's and in messy ringlets that were bunched up and tied behind her head, a few stray curls dangled beside her face. Her skin was pale though dark grey dirt patches could be seen on her cheek and jawbone. She was short and looked young enough to pass for an age below 12. Her eyes were a mix of both grey and green resulting in a misty deep shade; they were fairly narrow but rounded at the top and bottom. Her nose was fairly long and small at the edges leading down to her slightly pouted reddish lips. Her complexion was flawless though she possessed the look of a broken porcelain doll left outside alone in the autumn cold.

Sherlock knew much about her now. He knew some one had sent her. The way she looked upset and heart broken indicated she had no choice but to obey. She loved who ever it was and shared a strong relationship with them, which indicated she came from a broken home where her and the one who sent her had to stick together to get through it. This had also taught her to be quite strong - strong enough to survive a 2-month journey. She had been sleeping rough as she carried a damp sleeping bag that currently sat next to her feet on the floor. She was very thin and looked under fed. The fire was burning opposite them but the wood looked barely burnt showing she'd arrived not too long ago as she was, of course, still shivering. Her features were scarily similar - there was no other explanation. Sherlock hadn't expected this. Sat in front of him was his daughter.

"Oh, there you boys are. We've been waiting for you for…"

"An hour, I know," interrupted Sherlock, impatiently.

Mrs Hudson opened her eyes a little wider an inhaled, preparing herself for her next sentence, "This is…"

"I know who it is Mrs. Hudson. By the way, we appear to be, yet again, out of milk. Please be a dear and go get some," Sherlock interrupted yet again. Mrs. Hudson knew when she wasn't welcome. She swiftly stood up, picking up her tea tray, and quickly made her way upstairs.

Sherlock edged slightly closer to the sofa not sure whether he should shake the girls hand by way of introduction or not.

"As you already know, I'm Sherlock…" he put his hand out then in one quick graceful movement replaced it by his side, "…Holmes. Umm, I suppose I should know your name too."

"Sorry, I'm a bit – no – I'm completely lost here," John took Sherlock by the arm and lead him to the window. After glancing over his shoulder he lowered his voice, "Sherlock, who is she?"

Sherlock spun back round," Well, the thing is… how can I explain it to someone with your mind?" his eyes jumped around the room, back and forth between the girl and John a few times before he said, the slowest he could," She's my daughter."

"What? I didn't know you had a daughter, Sherlock."

"Well, clearly, my dear Watson, neither did I," replied Sherlock, a little exasperated.

"Well, how?"

"Well, John, when a man "loves" a woman or gets horrendously drunk in the company of one, things start to head in a certain direction and…"

"Whoa! Sherlock! You know what I mean," John interrupted quickly.

"Well – and I know this rarely happens – I don't know the answer!"

"Ahem – I'm still here," the girl blurted out from across the room.

Sherlock, clearly reluctant to speak or even look at the girl, stayed completely motionless with his back to her next to the mantelpiece. John's eyes flickered between Sherlock and the girl for a few seconds until he gave him one last look of encouragement. When Sherlock showed no signs of progression and looked away from John to stare deeply into the jar of offal sitting on the mantelpiece, John let out a long sigh and headed over to the sofa. He sat down beside her before quickly jumping up after feeling his phone vibrating him his pocket. He swiftly took it out and looked at the text he'd just received. Mycroft – again – still worrying about his little brother who won't answer his texts himself.

After putting his phone on the coffee table he looked up at the girl, "Right, I'm John Watson."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I gathered that," replied the girl, "How's your sister Harriet?" she asked, clearly showing off and you could tell by the little grin that grew on her face she knew she was spot on.

Sherlock slowly turned round, revealing a small smirk, which he was obviously trying to hide by turning down the corners of his mouth.

"Well," John began as he looked up at Sherlock, "She's definitely yours."

"I'm Melanie. Melanie Ediker. I was sent here to get your help," she spoke up - her voice softer and less confident than before.

"I know," said Sherlock walking slowly towards her. "It's Samantha isn't it?"

"My mother, yes. She's been falsely accused of murder. She's in prison and said you'd help us." Her voice grew more emotional. It was as if she was telling someone a relative had died.

"Ah, false imprisonment - how interesting. But we're working on a something else at the moment. Missing-persons-case – it shouldn't take long though," and with that Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen.

"My mother doesn't go to court until next month so… do you think you'd be able to help me before then?" she almost shouted. She sounded desperate and her eyes looked towards the kitchen in hope. There was no answer for a brief moment until a slowly spoken "Maybe..." was heard from the other room.

Melanie sighed and sunk back into the sofa. "It's better then nothing, I suppose," she whispered.

The room fell silent until the sound of footsteps and creaking wood could be heard as Mrs. Hudson came walking down stairs holding a white plastic bag.

"Melanie dear," she began, "I found these for you to sleep," she held up a long gown, "You look ready for a nice, hot shower. I can put your clothes in the wash ready for tomorrow. I know you don't have much of – well, anything really. Neither did we when we were little we had to make our clothes…"

"She's not staying in this flat is she?" said Holmes in disbelief as he popped his head out of the kitchen.

"Well, where else do you suppose she stay? She's twelve - she can't get a hotel room," Mrs. Hudson replied harshly, annoyed at the fact he would even consider not letting his own daughter stay for a few days or so.

"But I can't do experiments all night if I know _she's_ here," Sherlock murmured.

"You just said yourself you'll be doing experiments all night. I'll be out of your way if you let me sleep in your room," Melanie suggested. Sherlock didn't want this particular guest 'making herself at home'.

"NO. Sofa!"

"You can have my bed Melanie. I'm going to go and see Sarah – I'll stop at hers," John sighed. He decided to get out of there before they both blew up the flat with him in it. Mrs. Hudson could deal with it.

"John, no! You can't leave me here with..." he paused as he looked over at Melanie. "…Her," he finished with desperation plastered on his face. He did not want to be left with a child; especially not one he needs to take responsibility for. "Besides," he added, "I thought you didn't like the lilo."

"The sofa. He sleeps on the sofa," corrected his Melanie as she rolled her eyes.

"All the more reason to go - I haven't tried out the lilo yet. See you later," and with that, John grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the chair and was out the door.

Sherlock's cheeks were red, his lips were pressed together into a thin line and his eyes seemed to have adapted a burning stare.

"Well, I'll set the shower running shall I?" said Mrs. Hudson walking past Sherlock to the bathroom. A small smile began to grow on Melanie's face as she followed the landlady.

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_**Thanks for reading up to here as we forgot to say thank you at the end of the first chapter. We really hope you enjoyed it and will carry on reading and reviewing. **_

_**W-M-H-M-O-E-I-E-O-C-P-S-R-R-O-R-E-E-E-M-O-T-S-T-E (5X5)**_

_**Love S&J.**_


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